Robin Redbreast In A Cage
by sphinxofthenile
Summary: But which one of us is the caged one? implied Hannibal/Will


******Disclaimer: I own nothing but my sick mind.**  
**A/N:** I wrote this a while back, but decided to share. Because I had to I have an amazing team of enablers. Beta read by my favourite abuse victim the ever so lovely gothicdragon752. Lecter's POV.

******Summary:** But which one of us is the caged one?  
******Warning:** It's _Lecter_. That should be warning enough. Mentions of cannibalism, obsession, general twistedness, sick sick imagery**.**** You have been warned.**

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My, my, just what do we have here? This scent, this _perfume_, I know this. The heady rush of blood through the heart. So much fear it awakens a sweet ache, elation. Delicious.

I know it's you before you sit down, before you reach the chair, before I could see you were I not too busy staring at the wall and reigning my expression in even though I know you can't see it anyway.

I always knew you'll come.

I love visitors. They're like rats. They stink, reek with animal instinct and run away with their tails tucked between their legs when I'm through. Their minds, so simplistic, so easy to dissect. Most of them never gets past the third level of the Maslow pyramid, their fear like those of such pests, a purely instinctual connection, tasteless and offending.

Not you, though. You have seen it all. You know exactly why you should be afraid of me. Is there anyone who knows it better than you?

Is there anyone whose blood tastes sweeter than yours, my courageous boy?

Your steps slow down as you approach. So hesitant. So curious, yet dreading to look. The very same thing that cost you a pint of blood and a scar on your abdomen. Too bad you won't show me, let me run my fingers across it. Does she like it? The mark another man left on you? I bet she does. Scars tell such beautiful stories.

It's been so long, but you haven't changed a bit. Except for the tan, of course, and some other irrelevant bits and pieces. It's really becoming of you. Reminds me of an Italian historian I met in Rome. Police never found him. Would you? Maybe we could play that game some other time. Right now, it's not what you came for.

It's _him_.

Such a shame we should meet again like this. There is no courteousness in people anymore, no true honor. All is about business. I was expecting more of you, Will. Maybe a card here and there... you disappoint me. It doesn't matter, though. You did come, after all, and I have my means to remind you why that is. How does it feel to look into my eyes and know I was right?

You are too much like us, no matter how many times you assure yourself about the contrary. Do you think about that day? Oh, I know you do. Rolls off of you in waves of terror and thrill. Thick like you could just... _take a bite_...

I thought of you often, my dear Will.

Your eyes, I missed them the most. Always so pained, so full of the need to be acknowledged, appreciated. How they beseech for my attention, my approval. So attracted to authority. Did your mother raise you all by herself, I wonder? Did you perhaps have a secret little crush on a teacher of yours? Does it make you spread your legs for your bosses, Will?

It's not your secrets that make you so enticing - it's what you reveal, unknowing, unintentional.

The way you sat there, before my desk, hands in nervous dance, shoulders slumped and you said "I am so close, Doctor Lecter. So close to him, but I can't..."

The way you said it over and over again, Doctor, with such eager reverence. Oh, I remember... memories is all I've got in this place.

You have no idea how boring it gets in here sometimes. But this game I'm going to enjoy, through and through. You make such a noble prize, after all. And you know they can't keep me locked up forever. Should I fail this time, I will find you no matter where you are. That is why you are so afraid when I ask about you and your family, trying so hard not to reveal anything personal. Not to let me get a hold on you, for knowledge is power... Except, that I already do, my dear Will, don't I? No self-delusion will ever let you think otherwise.

I won't let it.

Your are absolutely remarkable, my boy. You know how we think, how we feel, balancing on a thin thread just a step away from _seeing_, understanding the magical grandeur of what I do. That thin boundary between fear and awe, insane and genious.

I've never tried a heart before. There is something shiver inducing about it, something carnally intimate in the vivid symbolism of such an act. What other way is there to make something everlasting than to make it a part of yourself, make it exist as long as you do? A closer proximity than becoming one instead of a brief moment of gratification? A life that emerges from death. I will think about this when I eat your precious heart. It will be so lovely, almost sacred, the very thing that keeps one from carelessly indulging in its beauty. But for you, my dear Will, I will gladly make an exception.

The sous-vide method maintains the integrity of ingredients, prevents the loss of excess fat and keeps the texture intact. A chef in Rouenne taught me, but of course, I have perfected the method to my own taste. You could say he sacrificed his life to further the very thing he dedicated it to, if you are so inclined. Spices would be a complete waste, but wine, it should be something heady and potent, smooth and thick, rich but not too sweet.

Chianti... that would be so ordinary. Maybe some Burgundy wine. Grand Cru, of course. I think I have a twelve year old bottle. Only the best for you, dear Will.

However, I'll have to make you see first, for you have looked and yet not _seen_... Make you stop your running from yourself, amusing though it may be, stop your running from the perfect being destined to rise through the dark alchemy of thoughts you find yet unconceivable. For all your brilliance, how can you not understand?

Fear, so much fear.

You, who can follow in the footsteps of my thoughts so well, you of all people should be able to trace the paths they take when I speak to you. I am being so clear, and yet you choose not to follow. Not one of my words is without purpose, yet you dismiss them even as they pierce through the very heart that belongs to me to complete my act of possession.

You decide not to see where this game is headed, you are not ready... but as long as there are Red Dragons, you'll come back and drink in its slow poison until it kills you so you can be reborn again. I wonder what would you say if you knew it all, how he contacted me and how I built him up from the whimpering wreck he was into this powerful being, this pitiful little tool in my hands, the perfect bait.

What would you say if you only knew you came here because I wanted you to?

You know Will, I could do that to you just as easily... But you don't have to be afraid, I don't want you ruined. I never did. What I want is you as whole as you can be, as thouroughly... _satiating_. It's so exceptional, the way you make me feel, like a starved man with the most delectable appetizer just out of reach. Except, I've learnt where you did not. After all, I have my own scars to remind me not to lower my guard around you like I did back then, no matter how easy it can be, how utterly promising in its glorious nakedness.

I will not make the same mistake again. And that is exactly why, my dear Will, that this game can only have one possible ending, no matter what you do and how hard you fight. It only serves to indulge my intellect and appetite. So by all means, carry on.

But you can never forget, eventually every game must have its ending.


End file.
